


Frozen Fires

by ValeriyaQuetzalis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Show Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anti show!Jon, Anti show!anyone, F/F, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, OOC-ish, POV Lesbian Character, anti show!Tyrion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValeriyaQuetzalis/pseuds/ValeriyaQuetzalis
Summary: After the assassination of Daenerys Targaryen at the hands of Tyrion Lannister and Jon Snow, a trial is done on King's Landing to determine their fates. As told by a grief stricken Sansa Stark, her mind wanders throughout all the trial mourning for her dead lover and desires for justice.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Frozen Fires

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a quick break from all my academic duties. Luckily for me, the semester is ending this week and I can and will continue my other Daensa fic. Also, quick disclaimer: this fic is heavy into anti-show!Jon,Tyrion,Samwell. I do like their book counterparts, but for the sake of this fic I have villainized them a bit.

She had never imagined herself sitting in front of her cousin, her entire body burning with hate. Not even when he was a bastard and she did not know better, not when he had arrived at Winterfell, his smile and eyes only for the dragon queen. And not even when he had disapproved of her romance with _his_ queen. But now she sat before him, in her royal clothes, with her subjects all around her; any hint of kingship and noble blood he had ever worn in himself had faded away now—dirty rags, greasy hair, unkept beard. His face was full of guilt, but what was guilt in the face of treason? His companion showed no signs of remorse nor sadness, the crimes they had committed were on their clothes, their appearance, their stance. All Westeros had come to judge in wonder at the two criminals, traitors and queenslayers; from queen Sansa herself, whom with a heavy heart and swollen eyes she had traveled all the way from Winterfell to King’s Landing, and onto the Dragonpit to give a verdict. Men of the Vale, Trident, some leftover cousins of Casterly Rock; a few surviving family members of the Tyrells who did not travel to King’s Landing that fatidic day on the sept; the new Prince of Dorne, Manfrey Martell, raging in fury at the assassination of their promised queen; Yara Greyjoy, grieving for his brother and her queen, who all died for nothing—for their fights to be in vain.

“My lords, my ladies,” opened Samwell Tarly, nervously. “The evil has been defeated, and the Long Night came to its end a few months ago. Now the tyranny of Cersei Lannister has been stopped, and we stand here as Paramounts, in the presence of Gods and men, to judge Tyrion Lannister and Aegon Targaryen, for the crimes committed against the new crown of Westeros, and the assassination of Daenerys Targaryen.”

_He is no Aegon Targaryen_ , Sansa thought, _and he is no bastard; he is lower than any title given to him_. Her cousin would not stop staring at her, looking for salvation. _Perhaps I could understand you, but I will not._

“What he did is no simple crime nor theft,” Yara spoke, rising from her seat. “What they _both_ did if I must add. They conspired against their queen, hidden from the ears of many and the eyes of the Gods. If we may believe their words, if we can, they had been doing this for months. Even before the attack of King’s Landing happened.”

“What we did, lady Yara, we did for the good of the realm.” Tyrion walked up the podium, his shackles cracking with every step. Sansa could not stand to hear his voice anymore; he could not believe she once trusted him and thanked him for everything. Would he had sacrificed her, too, if he deemed correct? How would he do it if he had the chance? “I believed in Daenerys, and her cause. Once she had killed many slavers and freed their people. She brought peace to an unstable region and left the freedmen to choose their own rulers. Now the region is on fire; a master uprising is ravaging the lands; the slavers know of no Iron Throne—”

“What she did or what she did not do on Meereen and Slaver’s Bay is no concern for the crown. It is a terrible reality, but the crown rules Westeros, and Westeros only.” Manfrey Martell spoke for the first time, surprising everyone. “It is a shame what is happening to Meereen, and Qarth, and Astapor and every slaver region… but she cannot do anything now, we are afraid, she is dead. Perhaps you can enlighten us about this last fact.”

“My lords, p-please.” Stuttered Samwell, fidgeting with his hands. “Let us keep this a civilized trial. We will give turns for everyone to speak and… hopefully we will come to an agreement.”

A tense silent enveloped the pit; in one hand, they had those who had pledged to Daenerys: the Martells, the Greyjoys, the Unsullied, and the Dothraki. They had no small armies, and a misunderstanding could ignite the flame their queen had left behind, and a tragedy could ensue _. I do not mind,_ Sansa thought, _I do not mind anymore._

Samwell looked at Jon, who then cleared his throat and looked up to his cousin. _He is looking at Arya_ , she realized, _he wants her to defend him_. But Arya had come to embrace Daenerys, too, but her heart was in a hard place—she had told Sansa earlier, though, that if she had to choose between Jon and a fair trial she would be lost. “My ladies, my lords… What I did has no name, aye, and if it is a title you want to bestow upon me, queenslayer and kinslayer are the most adequate ones.” His shackles weighed his steps, and his ever so melancholic stare intensified. “I did love Daenerys once. She gave me her support in the Long Night, she did give our support to us all. But none of that mattered once she had her eyes set on the throne. She did tell me; she was afraid of losing it all. She insisted on going to war even with our armies exhausted and our men starving. That is…”

“That is no queen.” Interrupted Tyrion, his gaze hardened. “She saw enemies everywhere, indeed. She executed one of her most trusted advisors on dragonfire, would not eat on fear of being poisoned, and had… periods of delusions. Many of you may be too young to remember, but the memory is still fresh and hurts to us. To me. The Mad King blood runs through her veins, but the difference is that she did what he could not: burn the entire city to the ground. No survivors. The innocent into ashes.”

“Would you call a grief-stricken woman, who had lost two of her children and her best friend, insane?” Sansa’s face was no longer sad and tired. _Porcelain, ivory, steel_. She felt the rage burning up her veins, the flame that Daenerys ignited inside her sparking. Last time she had spoken to her queen was back at Winterfell, both laying in bed, stroking each other’s hair; their romance a secret. Daenerys cried that night, and mourned for Viserion, and Jorah, and both cried the memories of Theon and little Lyanna. Their embrace had been a warm one, with the fireplace cracking and the last remnants of snow getting caught on their window.

“Yes, if her way of dealing was burning an entire city. I never met my mother, and my entire life was of pain and rejection, of hate and despair. I lost my love, and—”

“No, my lord, you murdered your love. Her name was Shae. The realm has heard her fucking song so many times no one requests it, not even at the lowest pubs in the city, no. We all know her name. And you should too.” Yara was angry, too, with her jaw clenched and her grey eyes staring at Tyrion. “But enough of hearing the clever men talk. What does the murderer have to say about this?”

Sansa felt her hopes to the floor. The men started murmuring around her—men who did not know what had happened. The Lannisters were convinced of Tyrion’s word, and The Vale had been nodding along his words. She wanted to scream, to prove them wrong. _Daenerys is no murderer nor tyrant, she is… she is…_

“We pledged for Queen Daenerys; she is no murderer. She freed us from the chains. She was reborn from the fire. She rode dragons again.” Out of a corner, Grey Worm clenched his jaw. His eyes were wet of anger, of fury, of helplessness. Grey Worm was his most trusted military advisor, one she personally embraced in his close council and gave support as a friend. Before him, Jon Snow looked nothing but a peasant, a small ant that needed to be crushed. “Not once she threatened to burn us if we failed at fight. When the people of Meereen rebelled against her, she judged them with a fair hand and kind heart. That queen you speak of… that is not Daenerys Stormborn. That is the queen _you_ created yourself.”

“Daenerys was unwell.” Jon voice interrupted him. He looked sad, guilty, but not guilty enough to earn Sansa’s sympathy. Hate, hate is what I feel when I hear your voice now. “When the truth about my parentage came out, she pleaded me not to tell anyone. She saw me as a threat when I had not done her anything before. At Dragonstone, after Rhaegal was slain, she had lashes of anger. She would not eat; she would not drink. After Missandei died, she… she spoke to only her khalasar, in their tongue.”

“What you describe, dearest cousin _Snow_ ,” The emphasis on the bastard surname struck everyone and the message was clear. Her wolf teeth started showing, her gaze killing. “Is what we call a mourning woman. How many times did you console her? How many times after each one of her friends and children died you supported her? Instead you searched for solace on Tyrion Lannister, her hand. For what other purposes, than getting rid of her?”

“We all lost everyone once, and we did not go on a killing spree. She… killing her was not an easy decision. Do you think I washed my hands after? Do you think I did not suffer when her last breath came out of her lips? She said a name before she died and let me ask _you_ if you know whose name it was.”

“Her death was not about you, nor me. Have you wondered what went through her head when her only surviving member of her family struck her heart? Or when she felt her blade crushing her chest? Perhaps when you twisted the dagger through her skin? What did she feel, I suppose I must ask you, when she felt her last breath out of her lungs. But then again, I don’t really think you nor Tyrion care about the answer enough.” She had not felt her tears falling and painting her cheeks, nor the hand Arya had placed on her shoulder. _Arya, you know, please… you know what I am trying to say._ “She was not insane, I tell you, and I want everyone on this pit to hear me. She was not insane, and if I have to get stabbed in the chest myself to prove it, so be it.”

Murmurs broke through the judges. A few suspicious stares were directed at Sansa, but Arya was quick to break them staring back at them. It had not been an easy and palatable process, but their romance started budding the moment Daenerys had arrived at Winterfell. Last time Sansa had felt anything when another woman smiled was at King’s Landing, under Margaery’s companionship. It had not progressed over a few hand touches and meaningful stares, but Daenerys’s did: secret hand squeezing, truth sessions, secrets at dinner, embraces at the Godswood, and silent passion on Sansa’s chambers. And Jon had grown suspicious, and when he realized their affair, Daenerys wept. _He is growing colder every day_ , the dragon queen had told her one night, _I cannot lose him, he is the only family I have._ And Arya had been a master key for the relationship between the two Targaryens at bay, but the dissent had been planted.

When Jon started scheming, Sansa had initially thought he did it because of jealousy, or as he said, love. But as much as hate boiled within her veins seeing him, he knew better. _He is a victim too_ , she thought, _victim of the spider and the imp._ Jon had told her the truth about his parentage, and Tyrion reaffirmed it. She chastised herself for not knowing that they wanted to depose of her the moment they told her. But as much of a victim Jon was, he still committed the deed.

“Lady Sansa,” Samwell spoke clearing his throat. “We… we understand what you are feeling, but I p-please beg of you to judge him objectively and—”

“Objectively?” Yara laughed incredulously. “Is that how you acted after you spurted to everyone and their fucking mother about this bastard’s parentage? Is that how you judged Daenerys after you learned she executed your father and your brother when they refused to bend the knee peacefully? Or shall we only be kind and trustful because Jon _Snow_ is your good friend?”

“Objectively is an interesting word, if I must say, coming from the man who broke his vows both to the Night’s Watch _and_ The Citadel.” Manfrey fixed himself in his seat, uncomfortably. “If this is how the trial is going to be, lead by a man who is obviously biased to both men before him, then let us return to our lands and decide what to do there.”

“You did not know Daenerys like I did,” Tyrion spoke, rage forming at his voice. “If you all were there, foes or friends, you would have understood. She would have burned you all the same. Your children, your mothers, your fathers, your friends.”

“I did know Daenerys, better than you if I must say.” Her tears dried, and Sansa reclined in her seat. “But coming from the man who strangled a whore after doing her job and decided to murder his own father not caring about the power imbalance it would create in the realm from the years to come, what do you know about power, lord Tyrion? What do you know about women, at all? You’re not even half as clever as you think, and the fact that you are alive here today proves it: it was not luck, nor strategy, but the fact that others took pity on your pathetic self while you drowned in wine and trusted you would do better. But you did not. And now here you stand.” Her gaze turned quickly at Jon, her eyes blue and cold as the Walkers themselves. “I did trust you Jon. I trusted you with my life. You took back Winterfell and avenged our family, and I thank you for that. But as much as you give, you also take. From others, from yourself. And if the judges today decide you should run free, guiltless and with no punishment you deserve, then you should run free.”

“Is that so, lady Stark? He may run free?” Yara answered, confusion arising in her voice. Frustration, perhaps—was not Sansa an ally? “Is that your verdict for this afternoon?”

“Yes, it is.” She resisted the urge to speak more, and Yara eyes fixated on her almost insultingly. _But we have the same thing in mind, you and me. There is no justice, as you may know._

“I would have expected better of my niece,” Edmund Tully finally spoke, looking at the ground bored. “I expected you to avenge your family, and perhaps avenge your friend here. But if this is what you want…”

“Uncle, whenever I yearn for your voice, I ask for it.” Her gaze turned towards him, unbreaking. “I have not asked this time, but perhaps your wife and your son may have.”

“My lords, I beg…” Samwell straightened, and turned his eyes to Jon and Tyrion. “If we hear the verdict of everyone here, then we shall proceed…”

“I propose we execute them, as soon as we can.” Yara barged in, her voice strong and commanding. “That is what traitors deserve, and how we treat them in the Iron Islands, and how they are treated in Westeros. Shall not they receive it, you have lost me in your cause.”

Manfrey cleared his throat, fixating into his shoes. Suddenly, his gaze turned to Tyrion and his brown eyes hardened. “You promised an aid for vengeance. My brother slew your father, as your champion. For that, I owe you one. But we did not receive the justice for Oberyn’s death, and Elia’s children corpses are nowhere to be found. Doran had planned a slow and painful vengeance for your family before he was assassinated, and that included you. Whatever the verdict is, let me tell you: may the snakes find you alive, they will bite. If our sun finds you walking on the streets, it may burn. Poison is more painful than beheading, if Oberyn was right. And fire is worse. It is your choice, Tyrion Lannister. And as for the _bastard_ … the punishment you receive will never be enough for the treason you committed.”

His words comforted Sansa enough for her to retreat into her seat. _If the snakes find you…_

“I do not know well Tyrion Lannister nor Aegon Targaryen much, I am afraid. But justice is justice.” Robin spoke, his stance kingly and straight. “You amused me back on the day, and you did well. I appreciate you and respect you. And if the Daenerys tales are true… then you did what was right, I believe. Many stories of her dragonfire came soon to my ears and frightened me before I knew better. For that, I believe they do not deserve such a harsh punishment.”

_Many things frightened you back then, coward one,_ Sansa thought furiously, _even me._

The lords and ladies all spoke their truths and lies, but Sansa did not hear any of them. The Unsullied remained calm and quiet, except for Grey Worm, who had put over his helmet to hide his face. His eyes spoke of treason, and injustice, and anger and sadness. He had lost Missandei, too, and not a single sentence lord Tarly could put on Tyrion and Jon would comfort him.

“Then, shall we sentence them both.” Samwell stood in front of them, proudly. “Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, you may forfeit your office and leave your lands and castles to your family. You shall reside on Casterly Rock but hold no titles nor fiefs. Lord… Lord Aegon, of House Targaryen: you may hereby be exiled of the realm, with no lands nor children by your name, and possible sentence of death if returned to Westeros. This is the final sentence.”

_There is no justice_ , Sansa sobbed. _There is no justice for my family, for Daenerys, for me. Them both should lay on the floor, bleeding, three daggers through their hearts._ Surely Jon would know what they feel like.

Sansa stood from her seat, unconsolably. She turned to Arya, who at failure of hiding her emotions, was crying too. _She cries for Jon, and for Daenerys, and for the lack of wit and mind these men have. I do, too._ She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and regaining her composure. Her eyes were red, swollen, burning. She could not hold back anymore: she wanted to scream, to destroy, to murder. She wanted to be comforted in Daenerys’s arms and stroke her hair, and tell tales of the North and hear tales of Meereen. She wanted to pet Drogon again, and take naps besides her on the frozen waterfalls wrapped with the warmth of her dragons. She wanted Daenerys to tell her everything would be alright, and to kiss her on her forehead when she would wake up and realize it was all a bad dream, as she had when she dreamed of Ramsey, of Joffrey, of Petyr and Cersei. But Daenerys was dead, fled to nowhere to be found on Drogon’s wing. And she is dead, too.

“Very well, lord Tarly. A just verdict for the crown, agreed. But a lackluster and outright pathetic one for the North. As we believed and chanted before _The Mad Queen_ arrived at the North, if any of you remembers, we will go back before the conquest. Before the dragons arrived, before we bent the knee. The North, to this day and to the last of its days, will remain independent from the crown. Which means, lord Targaryen, that if we find you stepping on northern land, whether by mistake or will, your head shall lay on a spike at the walls of Winterfell’s castle, so everyone shall know what the North does to traitors, oathbreakers, and kinslayers. This is _my_ verdict.”

Yara nodded and stood up. “Aye. Our queen had demanded our union and the forfeiture of our independence in exchange for helping her cause and getting aid. She is dead, and these two killed her. For that, her cause is lost, and her aid is nowhere. The Iron Islands remain separated from the crown, as we should have, and as we will.”

“Lady Greyjoy, I—” Samwell tried to stop her, but a voice interrupted him.

“The Martells were peacefully annexed by the Targaryen house, I fear. Now the last one of them is dead, and the remainder is banished. There is no excuse for us to stay; the crown has treated us like the sand we step on. No justice for my family, my people. Dorne is now a sovereign land, and we may meet on the battlefield if whoever king or queen you choose does not accept this. Your armies were ravaged by the dead and the living, our armies are trained and healthy. We refuse the crown’s authority, and now stand free.”

The tales told of that day, then, were monstrous. Romanticized, demonized. The Mad Ice Queen of the North, they spoke; The Kraken and her anger, some said; The Suns of the Fury, the stories told. Those who decided to remain within the crown soon entered a civil war for succession, and bloodshed ensued. But Sansa’s heart was unsteady, heavy and restless.

“There is no way to go as I was before the dragons came.” She told Arya, sobbing on her way to Winterfell. “Before the conquest, before I bent the knee. I wished for justice, but they gave me her ashes. I asked for vengeance, and they spat on my face. What are kings and queens for, if not to protect the ones who cannot protect themselves? She had told me that. But the traitors remain, and the unprotected lay on the floor. I could not even see her body, nor say my farewells.”

_But should I have wanted to?_ She remembered Daenerys as she was, and always had been to her. Kind, smiling, giggling, petite. Laid on her bed, covered only with a fur blanket, her eyes closed as she slept peacefully. She wanted to remember the memory she had of her laughing her heart out in bliss as she soared the skies with Drogon. _Was she laughing too, when Drogon took her to somewhere after she was stabbed?_

The rest of her nights she spent them praying. To the woods, to the seven, to the fire, to the faceless. Whichever god wanted to hear her first, she did not care. When she was not on her queen duties, she stayed in the library, reading about the Targaryen history, about dragons, about the dragon women. _She will not be here as a hero nor my love, she will be here as a mad one._

The wars raged on and on, and no King’s Landing king on sight. The throne was rotting with no one in it, the wheel was breaking. Just as she had wanted, and she desired.

She closed her eyes on her bed, covering herself up to the head.

“Daenerys?” She recalled one of her nights with her.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Do not call me lady, it does not feel right here.”

Daenerys giggled. “Is _my wolf_ better?”

“Mmm… too on the nose, I think. My name is Sansa, if you have forgotten, _your grace_.”

“Alright, lady Sansa.” She snuggled herself closer to Sansa’s chest. “Do not show me your wolf teeth.”

“I love you.” Sansa smiled.

Daenerys giggled again, this time burying her head on Sansa’s shoulder.

“I love you too.”

And so they both went to sleep.


End file.
